Luna's Crysanthemum
by snapemartyr
Summary: This is a tailored version of Luna and Harry's escapade into Slughorn's party- although they never get there, and it is an escapade of the most exciting nature . . . well, to those that are the most believing ;)


_**Hello everyone. This is a slightly tailored- well, disregard my need for the modifier 'slightly'- version of what occurred during Harry's sixth year after he asked Luna Lovegood to Professor Slughorn's party . . . **_

_**It's a bit light. Something to put you back into school spirit if you are attending term at the moment, and to provide a small bit of cheer for you . . . **_

_**I hope that you enjoy.**_

_**SM ~**_

_**{Disclaimer: None of this is of course mine}**_

* * *

_**Luna's Chrysanthemum ~ * ~**_

He must have been considering Luna Lovegood for a reason since she had become a friend, although she could not be considered sufficient evidence herself for this type of a circumstance as a friend- could she? Harry found that he was quite befuddled about why he'd asked her to Slughorn's party. Luna was after all a friend, but why . . . why had her status served as testimony for the beautiful art of a dance in Slughorn's quarters? Evidence made itself a roguish key to his reasons, because the mere term 'friend' simply did not qualify as a chrysanthemum of prettiness, not as far as he rightly could fathom . . . oh, if he only could understand his reasons for asking this odd girl, he would truly be grateful, although this did not appear to be forthcoming, concerning the matter . . .

Ron was completely bereft, even while he shook his hands, gracing everyone with flobberworm juice from his potions cauldron with an ease that soaked them perfectly from head to their toes. Harry and Hermione scowled at him in a flurry of attempts to rid their bodies of the sticky crude goo that was sticking to their clothes while creating a vintage rainbow of blue and purple splashes over their wiggling forms. Ron chortled.

"It's not funny, Ron!" Hermione told him severely, wagging a prompt finger in his direction, the other reaching for her pocketed wand rapidly.

"Yeah? Well, I just don't understand why Harry thought it was _best_," he said, emphasizing the term, "to ask Luna Lovegood to Slughorn's party. It's bad enough that he didn't invite me- " he continued rather sternly, wagging his own finger now, upward in the air so that it splayed itself back and forth in an awry form, "but to take Loony Lovegood to the party-"

"Ron!" Hermione chastised. "I told you not to call her that." She glared at him with slight reproach, while Harry released a low chuckle as he tried to shut Ron out of his hearing range.

"You could have chosen anyone in the entire school Harry," he surmised, with a hint of pride, although at what Harry could not really imagine, since his tone of contemplation seemed strangely misplaced. Ron was not the type of person to rely upon subtlety, so apart from what he had taken it upon himself to say on the matter, Harry sorely thought that his friend was losing himself to nondescript unreality, which indicated looniness.

"Mate," he said, rather jovially, clamping a hand on his best friend's back, "if you thought that deduction was difficult, then I should have asked you too, Loony." And with that, he turned back to his now skin-filled, baubertus-ridden and flobberworm saturated, heavy cauldron, thinking that Ron was well off indeed to have a friend like Hermione, who was now consoling him in the most beautiful way . . . possible.

A dark slinking shadow made their time cut to the quick in the form of Professor Snape, whose glittering, coal-black eyes abruptly ended the conversation. Harry stared back at him defiantly, albeit that he may just have been a see bit grateful for his assistance, unbeknownst to him, of course, in this current and poignant matter. Ron swallowed and turned back to his work.

_Later on at night ~ *_

Luna now wore a spangled silver gown that fell down in thick semblances that were tactfully laid about her frame, even while she stood posed with her mouth hanging slightly open while she looked up at the ceiling; Harry, who glanced up in the general direction in which Luna was staring with an almost frightful drill-to-hole measure, saw nothing more than a crysanthemum hanging above her head, decked within the smooth crevices of the arc in a grossly flamboyant fashion, its purple petals flicking happily back and forth in silence, even though no wind generated its moves. This was one of the Christmas decorations that had most likely been put up by Professor Flitwick, who Harry knew to be solely responsible for the new holiday designs.

"Er- shall we go?" he asked, uncertainly looking at Luna. A gaggle of girls framed the edge of the enchanted corridor at the end, completely disengaged from the spectacle of forgotten Christmas ornaments, merrily bedecking several snow flowered knights and cheerily flanking the long hallway via lovely portrayals of dusty glitter, instead finding Harry and Luna to be particularly interesting- well, perhaps that was a gently-tailored version. Most of them were glaring at Luna with true spite upon their faces, and several others were grinding him with looks of resent. Gritting his teeth with the effort to ignore them, he turned back to Luna, proffering his left arm to her.

"Did you know that chrysanthemums are sometimes filled with nargles?" she asked him with fervent interest. Harry, who was entirely used to Luna's strange predilections for all things that were bizarre or merely fascinating to well, the typical observer, he supposed, knew better than to ask her what nargles actually were, opting, instead to delicately phrase the question,

"Are those what attracted your interest?" She looked at him with apparent surprise.

"Of course not, silly." She made a gesture towards the chrysanthemum. "The chrysanthemum was created by small creatures called itlemovblegites, and, well, I always thought they were fascinating." Harry did not question the matter further, although he was vaguely surprised that she thought the seemingly unobtrusive flower to be as rare as this, so he thought that he might ask her later. At the moment Slughorn's party, which took precedence over her happy flower descriptions, was beckoning, so Harry tugged her in that stated direction.

"You know . . . " she said in a curious tone of voice, as they made their passage through the second hall, "I was under the impression that Professor Slughorn had eaten too many of those Wrackspurt fangs the other day. He looked as if he were having trouble breathing, and that's usually an indication of such a happening." This time Harry paused, turning to look at the odd girl whom he'd invited to come to this annoying thing.

"Luna," he started, a bit uncomfortably, "I really don't think that those were Wrackspurt fangs- " he turned to the side, coughing very slightly, "they had the appearance of Hogwarts cuisines actually- "

"Oh no," she said, stopping him halfway through his short chastisement. "They were written about last week in Daddy's _Quibbler_. They looked just like the images that he portrayed." And here, Harry burst out laughing, suddenly unable to help himself. Luna's eyes glowed like shining beacons that were out floating somewhere in her dreamy depictions of Wrackspurt objects and invisible creatures . . . " Harry unconsciously tugged on her arm with more pressure, urging her to come around the next bend-

"And you know . . . " she said, with a faraway voice this time that made it sound like she was miles away from anything which Harry could see or determine, "there really is more to it, Harry." The tone grew odd. Harry spun around. Luna Lovegood's features had softened, while those protruding orbs glowed fabulously, as if brightened by something else, and Harry thought, with little substance to the notion, that, just maybe there was more to the sporadic decision he'd made . . . she was so close to him at the present that their noses almost touched.

"What do you mean?" He was actually, genuinely curious.

"There is more to this place," she said, sounding surprisingly quite matter-of-fact, "than meets the eye Harry." Now she was no longer looking at him, but her eyes glazed the walls that were surrounding her.

"I mean, Hogwarts was created, or I suppose instituted might be the more suiting term, by four founders, but they didn't know what it would later on grow to be, during war-time. They couldn't have imagined back then what would ultimately become of all of us, or what separation of the students into their own sections might mean." Her eyes sought him out, and pressed into his own. "They were actually very naïve about how the school would ultimately resurface, but me . . . well, I just think that we should all learn to get along, don't you?" Harry did not respond to her. The proximity between them had closed into one little, Eskimo-nose creation, and they were now the centerpiece to the adjoining hall and this one.

"It doesn't seem as though . . . any of us are really very different." They were so close that their lips were touching, pressed into a flower like that lovely chrysanthemum above them framing the arc of this one single moment, which caressed Luna's rose-bud lips as they nudged his . . . while a blossoming feeling rose in Harry's stomach, that truly and honestly had nothing to do with the fulfilling lunch that he had eaten . . . as they eventually broke apart, Luna's pink-painted fingernail pointed to the ever-fascinating flower above them which hugged their quick reunion, and the fickle ideas of Luna Lovegood's quirky mind . . .

A little later, Harry had walked into the Common Room, remembering those fingernails, and a lovely song that caressed his breast in spite of the end to Slughorn's party-

"I never saw a pretty little rose-bud . . . " he sang unconsciously, giddy with the after-effects of the butterbeer he'd drank with Luna," but you and IIIIIII . . . we're . . . always singing. We always kneeeew . . . "

"Hey mate, it's time for- Harry?" Ron stood upon the edge of the winding staircase precariously, his eyes bleary from lack of proper sleep, tottering." Harry, what- what are you doing?" he asked him, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Why are you singing? And what's that in your hand?" He pointed an accusatory finger at Harry's closed fist, which housed beneath its knobby fingers the remnants to a dead flower. Harry, coming quick to his senses, merely shrugged.

"It's a flower." Ron stared at him.

"Yeah . . . " he said slowly, "right." Harry walked past him, still holding the flower close.

"Hey . . . wait! Why are you carrying that flower?" Ron asked him, tripping over his feet several times in the process of making an attempt to follow him. But Harry, giving him a dismissive, cursory look, said firmly,

"I've got no idea. But here's an idea. Why don't you ask Hermione? She's quite clever, after all . . . " Ron's eyes widened.

"Harry, you- you didn't get that from Loony did you- I- I mean Luna," he corrected hastily. His friend simply continued to sing softly. Ron picked up a fallen wilted petal and cursed quietly. Harry turned around.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing," Ron said quickly, throwing down the petal as he dashed after Harry. "Wait . . . Harry . . . blasted petal," he grumbled. But . . . he jumped back suddenly. What was that he had just seen? He glanced towards Harry's retreating form suspiciously. He looked back down at the rose-petal. Then he gasped.

"Harry!" he yelled. "Something- something jumped out of your rose-petal . . . " his voice trailed off. Harry turned around once more.

"That's a chrysanthemum petal, Ron. Sometimes they enclose nargle venom, but it's quite harmless, really . . . goodnight."

Out of the pink petal was loosed a tiny, little, black-

"Harry! Harry! I'm coming!" The redhead rushed up the stairs, trying to escape the creeping shadow . . .

Which was simply just imaginary, and floated in the ears of those who were least suspecting.


End file.
